


Abnormal Psychology

by Siria



Category: Bones (TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-19
Updated: 2009-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So have I already said how excited I am to be here? Because I really am." Lance uncapped his pen—he'd bought one of those zero gravity pens when he found out he was coming here, just in case—and flipped to a new page in his notebook. "This is totally awesome."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abnormal Psychology

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to dogeared for betaing. Written for cliche_bingo for the square 'Unmixy Things: Weird Crossovers'.

"So have I already said how excited I am to be here? Because I really am." Lance uncapped his pen—he'd bought one of those zero gravity pens when he found out he was coming here, just in case—and flipped to a new page in his notebook. "This is totally awesome."

He looked up and grinned at his first patient: Lieutenant Colonel John C. Sheppard, military commander of the Atlantis base and possibly the most decorated officer to have that many black marks in his record. Sheppard didn't quite smile back at him—his face scrunched up in this weird way that, well, okay, Lance had worked with unwilling people before, this was no big deal—and there was every chance that he was being sarcastic when Sheppard replied that he, too, was 'like, totally psyched.'

"Okay, so," Lance said, looking down at Sheppard's file where it lay open in his lap. (Well, the synopsis of his file—the unexpurgated version was a couple of inches thick and reading up on the man had made Lance very glad that he'd taken that speed-reading class back in high school.) "Colonel Sheppard, you're a military man—I mean, obviously"—he flapped a hand in Sheppard's direction, and he was totally going to have to come back to the issue of what prompted a person to wear _two_ loaded thigh holsters to an appointment with his psychotherapist—"and I respect that, I really do. I know you're only here because these sessions are mandated by the SGC, so I'm sure that we can both really focus on getting to the core of things as quickly as possible, huh?"

Sheppard blinked at him, slowly, and there was a long pause before he said, "Sure." He was sprawled in one of those oddly low seats that littered the city, arms folded and legs spread, the laces of his combat boots partly undone.

"That's great!" Lance said, smiling brightly. "I always prefer to co-operate rather than conflict with my patients." In his notepad, he scrawled _performative/defensive masculinity?—pass. aggr.—father issues?_

"So, you filled out all of that questionnaire which we handed out to you guys, that was great, you really... ticked all the boxes."

"It _said_ tick the boxes."

"With respect, Colonel, it said tick the boxes which _apply_. I greatly doubt that on any given day, your dominant emotions are"—Lance paused to flick to the relevant page—"happiness, sadness and hunger."

"What can I say, Sweets, I'm a complex guy. And I've got a bit of a sweet tooth." The expression on Sheppard's face was less an attempt at a smile and more an outright baring of the teeth.

"Actually, it's _Dr_ Sweets, because I have a—you know what, never mind." Lance stared at him for a moment before sighing and flicking to the next page of the questionnaire. "Well, I suppose that clarifies your answer for 'How would you typify your approach to conflict resolution'—and I quote, 'a little of column A, a little of column B.'"

"You know," Sheppard said, "Dr Heightmeyer would just sign off on these yearly check-ins, everyone'd be out in five minutes, tops. That'd make it a lot easier for you and me." He mimed scrawling a signature at a piece of paper he wasn't looking at.

"Dude," Lance blurted out, jolted into stating the obvious, "Dr Heightmeyer is like totally _dead_, and the stress and trauma that your team has been through in the last few months is enough to warrant even more time than the SGC is allotting me with you."

"Shockingly," Sheppard said through gritted teeth, "I had noticed that a member of my expedition was _murdered_, because that's the kind of crap I have to put up with every day. While I'm talking to you in here, stuff is going on out there, stuff that involves _my_ team—"

"Okay," Lance said, "now we're getting somewhere, because based on the answers you gave me, I think that talking about your team might be a fruitful—"

"Sign the damn forms!"

"Anger," Lance said patiently, "is only useful if it lets you get in touch with your fear."

Sheppard ran a hand over his hair. "What are you, some kind of precocious wannabe Jedi Master?"

"Natalie Portman is totally hot," Lance beamed at him. "Am I right?"

"You did not just admit to having seen the prequels."

"Okay, while not technically perfect, those movies made for fine cinematic entertainment!" Lance had had this argument with Hodgins many times before.

Sheppard laughed to himself, a dirty old man chuckle that made Lance think of _Sesame Street_ for some reason—it was redolent of muppetry. Not a bad sign, though; it meant maybe that Lance was striking up a rapport with him. "Oh, man. Rodney's going to _flay_ you." Or maybe not.

"You have difficulty accessing your feelings about your work here, don't you?" When in doubt, go for the direct approach—to be fair, that approach _had_ seen his contract terminated with the FBI, but it had also brought him to the notice of the SGC. Totally a win.

"I do not have to sit here and listen to this crap," Sheppard said, way too evenly for how shallow his breaths had become.

"Yeah, you kinda do. But seriously, we're cool, because everything we say here? Totally protected by the zone of silence." Lance sketched it out in the air—he'd always envisioned it as kind of blocky and square, a little like Superman's Fortress of Solitude, except with more emotional honesty and acknowledgement of repressed homoerotic subtexts.

"Zone of silence," Sheppard said, slowly and carefully.

"Uh huh."

"You mean a zone of silence except for how you're making note of everything I say—or don't say—so you can report it back to your superiors in the SGC." It was possibly a little aggressive of Sheppard to make finger quotes when he said 'zone of silence.'

"I make an _evaluation_, based on my observations, which are—"

"You report back," Sheppard said, and he looked almost smug at that—_hey_, his body language was saying, _I've figured out your game and I don't wanna play, and I don't care if that means you take away my ball. _

_Impulsive behaviours_, Lance scribbled on the bottom of his notepad, _easily pushed to acts w/ disregard self_. He was so going to get another paper out of this assignment; maybe even a collection of essays.

"Yes," Lance said, flipping his notebook closed. "I report back. And now our time is up, so I will see you same time next week, huh? Maybe we can meet in the mess hall, get some of that great coffee, enjoy the view along with some of those sticky little Athosian pastries? They're awesome."

"You're not going to sign the forms, are you?" Sheppard said after a moment.

"Think of this," Lance said, putting the cap back on his pen, "as, like, this great journey that we're about to set out on together."

"Yeah," Sheppard said, "I'd really prefer not to do that."

"See?" Lance grinned, "you're already starting to open up! I can feel us starting to bond."

Sheppard glowered at him, but got up to leave without saying anything else. Lance let himself bask in the glow of having established a rapport before he pulled out the file for his next scheduled patient. This one—for a Dr M. Rodney McKay—was even thicker than Colonel Sheppard's, and came complete with several pages covered in Kate Heightmeyer's careful, slanted script.

He brought the page close to his face to peer at some minuscule annotations that he'd missed on his initial read-through of the file. _Oh dear_, he thought, eyebrows raised, and read through them again; it seemed as if Dr Heightmeyer had capitalised whole sentences when she was particularly provoked. But it was cool, it was totally okay, he was sitting in an _alien city_ in another galaxy and Lance had hopes that things could only get more awesome—law of averages, after the kind of professional year he'd just come out of, how could things not? So he was totally relaxed and prepared and yeah, _psyched_, when the door chimed for his next appointment.

(He learned, quickly, not to schedule sessions with Sheppard, McKay and Ronon Dex on the same day.)


End file.
